A Visit
by Captain Galaxia
Summary: His fallen comrades all left people behind. Giorno takes it upon himself to inform them of their fates. There's just one person left he has to visit. (Contains Major Part 5 Spoilers)


Giorno rapped his knuckles on the door, half-hoping no one would answer.

He had taken it upon himself to find the next-of kin of his fallen comrades. It took a bit of doing to be able to track all of them down. Giorno hadn't known any of them long enough for them to speak of any loved ones to him. It was done mainly with information provided by Mista, from what he knew about their pasts, and his own research, made easier by the resources that were made available to him upon taking control of Passione. Giorno wished he could have found Fugo and asked him what he knew of their pasts. Fugo had been with the gang the longest out of all of them, besides Buccellati, and he would likely know the most, but Giorno hadn't found the time to look into where his former teammate had gone after they left him behind in Venice. Giorno wasn't sure if Fugo would even want to speak with him after what happened.

Even without Fugo's help, Giorno managed to find everyone he was searching for. He felt he owed them to personally speak with them all, trying to push back thoughts of _it's all your fault, they died for the sake of your dream, and you never once stopped to consider what they wanted instead_. Meeting with Abbacchio's family had gone well enough, if you could say a meeting in which you have to face a mother and father and tell them their son is never coming home could ever truly go well. Meeting with Narancia's father was, to say the least, different. Giorno had tried to mentally prepare himself for any predicted reactions he would face when he undertook this task, but the complete apathy Mr. Ghirga showed when told of his son's fate was something Giorno never could have predicted.

Giorno was pulled from his thoughts when the door finally opened. Behind it stood an older woman, her wavy black hair pinned back. She asked, "What is it?"

"Are you Marzia Zeppeli?" Giorno asked.

The woman paused, slight confusion visible on her face. "Where did you learn that name from?"

"Are you not her?" Giorno said. "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address."

"No, no, you have the right address," The woman said. "It's just that Zeppeli is my maiden name. I haven't gone by it in years, and I wasn't expecting to hear someone ask for me using it."

"My apologies," Giorno said. "I found three different surnames for you, and I wasn't sure which one you preferred."

"It's Marzia Gnocchi these days," She answered. "As for the third name you found, it's probably the one from my first marriage. So, what do you need?"

"Mrs. Gnocchi," Giorno began, "My name is Giorno Giovanna. May I come in? I have some important news to share with you, about your son."

"Bruno?" Mrs. Gnocchi seemed to perk up at the mention of him. "Yes, please, come in."

Mrs. Gnocchi led Giorno into a well-decorated living room. His eyes passed by a shelf covered in framed family photos. He didn't recognize most of the people in the photos, but there were a few of a boy that was unmistakably Buccellati in his younger years. Giorno couldn't help but smile slightly, even in spite of the dreadful task he was here for. _So he had always styled his hair that way._

"You caught me at a good time, I'm the only one home right now. Why don't you have a seat?" Mrs. Gnocchi said, gesturing to one of the couches. "Could I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Thank you, but I don't plan on staying here very long." Giorno sat, thinking carefully of how he would break the news. This woman was so polite, and his heart ached, knowing what he had to tell her. "I think you'll want to sit down for this."

Once she had sat down on the couch opposite Giorno, Mrs. Gnocchi leaned forward eagerly, hungry for information. "So, you know Bruno? How is he?" She asked. "I haven't seen or spoken to him in so long. I hardly know what he's up to these days."

Giorno took a deep breath. "Mrs. Gnocchi, I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have any good news of him to give you," He said, trying his best to keep his words as even as possible. "Bruno Buccellati is dead."

Mrs. Gnocchi's reaction was immediate. Once eager, longing for news of her estranged son, she now seemed to fall apart all at once. As soon as the words left Giorno's lips, she made a horrified gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Her perked-up shoulders fell. "No, this can't…" She sobbed, a few tears already threatening to spill from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I…"

"You have no need to apologize." Giorno considered attempting to put a hand on shoulder, do something to try and offer Mrs. Gnocchi some warmth or comfort, but he was unsure if she would appreciate such a gesture from a stranger. "If you need to cry, then cry. It's never easy to hear of the death of a loved one."

For a few moments, she did cry. She turned away from him, holding her face in her hands as she softly sobbed. Giorno looked away. Having to break the news to Buccellati's mother, seeing her like this, overcome with grief and anguish, the emotions Giorno felt when his death was fresh seemed to hit him all over again. Giorno tried but failed to hide the trembling of his shoulders, and he bit his lower lip in an attempt to silence any noise before it could escape.

"How did he die?"

Giorno's head snapped back to Mrs. Gnocchi. She had attempted to compose herself somewhat, though she was still visibly shaking, and her eyes still shined with tears unshed. Giorno swallowed dryly, unsure of how to explain what had happened. "You're aware of the recent anomalies in and around Rome, correct?" It was a rhetorical question. The events surrounding Green Day and Silver Chariot Requiem were all over the news. Giorno shuddered thinking of the lengthy list of those who had been killed by Cioccolata's stand. Finally putting an end to the wicked doctor's reign of terror was one of the most satisfying things he had ever done. "He died as he lived, altruistically. I owe my life to him, and I'm not the only one."

Mrs. Gnocchi inhaled sharply through her nose. "I knew it," She said, a sad smile making its way onto her face. "Bruno's kindness was a virtue, but I always knew someday it would be the death of him."

"He was a good man," Giorno said. He tried to speak as calmly as he could, but his voice wavered, showing the sadness that was lurking underneath his forced composure. He looked away from Mrs. Gnocchi again, hoping he couldn't read his face to tell how he was truly feeling. "I didn't know him for very long, but in the time since I met him, he managed to impress me at every turn with his loyalty and determination. I'm lucky to have known him, however brief our time together was."

"Thank you for taking the time to visit me about this," Mrs. Gnocchi said. Giorno felt her place a hand on his shoulder, a gesture he had specifically avoided earlier. When he turned to look back at her, she was staring straight at him. "You told me to cry if I needed to cry. You should take your own advice. If you need to, I won't judge."

Giorno couldn't remember the last time he had ever cried in front of another. As a child, he had learned quickly to stay calm and composed when around others. Even back in Rome, with the deaths of Narancia and Buccellati fresh on his mind, he had tried to hold in his emotions, only allowing himself to shed tears for them in private. Mrs. Gnocchi's words, encouraging him to cry if he needed to, just as he had done for her, seemed to open the floodgates. He could feel the tears he had been trying to hold in slide down his cheeks, and all at once, he let loose all the emotions he had been hiding. Mrs. Gnocchi cried with him. When they eventually both managed to compose themselves to speak again, Giorno convinced Mrs. Gnocchi to allow him to aid her in funeral arrangements, before he finally bid her goodbye and left, having stayed far longer than he had ever planned to.

Perhaps he should let himself cry more often, Giorno muses as he drives away, the house he spent an afternoon weeping in quickly disappearing from view. He isn't sure how long it will take to move on from what happened. He isn't sure if he ever will. Somehow, though, letting himself cry about it helps to ease the weight of their deaths just a bit.


End file.
